


Island Paradise

by gwynhefar



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwynhefar/pseuds/gwynhefar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil get a surprise vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Island Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> For [TheDreamerLady](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/608261/) who spawned this particular plot bunny.

Phil leans back with his head pillowed on his rolled-up jacket and closes his eyes, letting the warmth of sand and sun penetrate his still-tense muscles and the rhythmic crash of waves soothe his jangled nerves.  Not for the first time he is thankful that he had Stark hack the site housing the Evil Overlord list and set it to block all Latverian IP addresses.    
  
There is a ‘twang-thunk-THUNK’ from his left.  “Coconut?” Clint offers cheerfully, and Phil takes the proffered fruit half gratefully, cracking one eye open to glance skeptically at the dozen others piled on the sand nearby.  
  
“Exactly how many coconuts do you think we need, Clint?” he asks as he sits up enough to pull the small flask of rum out of his pocket.  After all, you can’t have a piña colada without rum, can you?  Doom himself had said so, gleefully slipping the sealed bottles of Jamaican rum into his and Clint’s pockets right before their ‘execution.’  
  
Clint pulls out his own bottle as he plops down on the sand next to Phil, stripped to a t-shirt and boxers, legs stretched out in front of him, bare toes digging playfully into the sand.  “You never know, sir,” he replies as he dumps a healthy shot of rum into the bowl of his own half-coconut, the alcohol mixing with the pale liquid.  “We could be here awhile,” he adds with a grin.  
  
Phil sighs, fixing his own makeshift piña colada and savoring the dichotomy of cool juice and alcohol burn down his throat.  
  
“He didn’t take out our trackers,” Phil reminds Clint.  “I’d say we’ve got a few hours at most before Stark gets here.”  
  
“Assuming he’s even looking in the right place,” Clint says with a snort.  “He could be still tearing up Latveria for us.  Couldn’t happen to a nicer country,” he adds, eyes lit with unholy glee.  
  
“I don’t know,” Phil says, just to be contrary.  “I was thinking of sending Doom a thank you note when we get home.  We haven’t had a vacation in years.”  
  
Clint laughs.  “I say we send him a postcard.  Get Tony to take our picture standing on the beach.  This isn’t exactly how I expected today to go, but I’m hardly going to complain.”  
  
Phil hums in agreement.  Getting caught in Latveria wasn’t exactly fun, and Phil had been genuinely worried when Doom had decreed their immediate execution.  At least until he discovered that in the manner of Evil Overlords everywhere, Doom’s definition of ‘immediate’ translated to ‘as soon as I take the time to fly you in my private jet over to the Caribbean’ and ‘execution’ translated to ‘taunt you with the vision of an island paradise just out of reach and then dump you into the ocean and fly away cackling.’  
  
Sure, they’d been tied up when they were thrown out of the low-hovering plane but, really?  It had taken each of them mere seconds to cut their cords, even while holding their breaths underwater, and the island had only been a mile away.  So when all was said and done, ‘immediate execution’ ended up as ‘surprise tropical vacation with complementary alcohol’ and now all they had to do was wait until Stark figured out they weren’t in Latveria anymore and came to pick them up.  
  
“We should have beach sex,” Clint says suddenly as he munches on the meat of his coconut.    
  
Phil drains the last of his ‘piña colada’ and looks over to Clint with an eyebrow raised.  “Do you _want_ sand up your asshole?” he asks mildly.  
  
Clint grimaces.  “Yeah, ok.  What about ocean sex?”  
  
“There are crabs and jellyfish in that water, Barton,” Phil says with a sigh.  It’s not that he isn’t interested, but there are practical concerns as well.  
  
Clint pales and shudders.  “Ok, no beach sex and no ocean sex, got it,” he says glumly.  Then he slides his gaze over to Phil again, eyes glittering.  “Waterfall sex?” he asks, hopefully.  
  
Phil pauses.  That . . . could work.  As long as the fall isn’t too strong.  “Where is there a waterfall around here?” he asks, because while Clint has been poking his head into things and collecting driftwood and coconuts like the curious bird he is since they reached the island, Phil has been content to lounge on the warm beach.  
  
“Just a little way past the treeline,” Clint answers.  “It’s not very high, feeds into a small pool.  Fresh water.  Warm, too.  Hot springs, I think.”  
  
“Show me,” Phil orders and Clint jumps up eagerly.  Phil follows him at a more sedate pace.  The pool with the waterfall is only about five hundred feet from the treeline, and it’s perfect.  The great towering trees don’t grow at the rocky edges of the pool, so while the water closest to the forest is shaded, up against the rocks the sun shines brilliantly through the canopy, making the spray from the small cascading waterfall shine like glitter in the air.  Just the lightest hint of a rainbow arches at the base of the fall and the wet rocks shimmer like jewels.  A slight mist rises from the water, which is clear as glass down to the silty bottom of the pool.  
  
Phil just stands there staring for a moment until Clint steps into his arms and pulls his face down for a long, lingering kiss.  Phil brings his hands up to cup Clint’s head and hums contentedly into Clint’s mouth.    
  
“So?” Clint asks as he pulls away.  
  
“This’ll work,” Phil says, and shoves Clint into the water.  Phil is already unbuttoning his shirt when Clint comes up sputtering.  Clint has that look in his eye, so Phil finishes stripping quickly, folding his shirt and pants and resting them on a rock before joining Clint in the water.  
  
The water is warm but not hot and Clint wraps himself around Phil as soon as he moves close enough to touch, t-shirt and boxers already off floating over by the bank.  
  
“Definitely sending Doom a thank you note,” Clint mutters as he captures Phil’s mouth in a searing kiss, steering them over toward the rocks until they are directly under the waterfall, cool water cascading down their shoulders as they press together, hands roaming.  
  
“Oh don’t mind me, I’m just here to rescue you,” Tony’s voice interrupts, sarcastic tone translated easily even through the suit’s speakers.  Phil looks up to see Iron Man hovering over the trees, arms crossed over his chest in silent rebuke.  
  
Clint buries his head in Phil’s shoulder and mutters a curse.  “Fuck off, Tony, we’re _busy_ ,” he calls.  
  
“I can see that,” Tony replies with glee.  “Come on, chop chop, vacation’s over!”  
  
Clint groans, still not lifting his head from Phil’s shoulder and Phil sighs.  “We’ll be down on the beach in five minutes, Stark,” he says, running his fingers soothingly through Clint’s wet hair.  Something in his tone must have convinced Stark he is serious because Iron Man flies off leaving them alone once more.  
  
“Normally I appreciate a quick rescue, but couldn’t he have taken just a little longer?” Clint complains, finally pulling away and retrieving his soaked clothes.  
  
“Apparently not,” Phil answers, hauling himself out of the water and putting his own clothes back on.  
  
“But we were going to have waterfall sex!” Clint whines.  
  
“Another time,” Phil says with a smile, pulling Clint close not caring that he’s getting wetter than he was already.  Clint’s waterlogged clothes _are_ his fault, after all.  
  
“Another time,” Clint mumbles petulantly as they head back to the beach where Tony is waiting with the jet to take them home.  “Yeah, like _that’s_ going to happen.”  
  
Doom does get his thank you note.  So does Tony, two weeks later, after a document declaring Phil Coulson and Clint Barton the proud new owners of a tiny island in the Caribbean is pinned to their door.  
  



End file.
